Play Crack The Sky
by JulesSophia
Summary: With unimaginable power thrust upon her, Lady Cordelia Trevelyan struggles to overcome her fears and assist the Inquisition. But when a dark memory threatens this goal, her only answer is to seek the help of the man she's most reluctant to lean on. This is a tale of love and trust, found even amidst the darkest of times. M for sexual situations and violence
1. Prologue

_A/N: Trying something new which involves just writing rather than obsessing over every word endlessly (and never finishing). If you like or hate where this is going, please review/favorite/follow/something so that I know? Nothing's more awkward than continuing a story that no one seems to be enjoying...  
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><p><em>Andraste must be joking<em>. He was unable to suppress the thought as he watched the Seeker pass the small, limp body to Solas. Dark hair, matted with something that was likely once the innards of a demon, parted to reveal a bloodless face.

Delicately curved brows.

A cheek too full to have yet seen a third decade.

Young. Very young.

He turned back to the reports scattered on the crate before him with a grimace. Their supposed savior – this _Herald –_ was no more than a girl. It was a forceful reminder of the doubts that had plagued him since Kirkwall. For if this was the best blessed Andraste could do to save them all from world's end, then what was the point? Perhaps they were truly lost to the Maker forever. Perhaps, He had never been there at all.

Cullen glared up at the sickly green sky, half daring it to strike down at him for his blasphemous musings.

The span of three breaths.

Nothing.

He closed his eyes with a sigh. A city's worth of dead mages and innocents had shown him the dangers of a faith held blindly. He would recite the Benedictions tonight. He would hope that he was not a fool.


	2. Little Girl Lost

Haven's chantry smelled like... _cold_. Cordelia marveled at the concept even as she allowed herself to fall a few paces behind the Nevarran's brisk strides down the main hall. It was a small attempt at privacy while she began to furtively, yet frantically, pat herself down. How could she have lost it? She'd had it when she'd awoken in the cell. She was sure of it.

Cassandra paused with one hand on the knob of the heavy wooden door before them and looked her charge over. "Ready?" And after receiving no response, "Trevelyan?"

Cordelia's fingers found the worn, smooth surface of the charm she sought. "_Thank the Maker_," she breathed, pulling it from her pocket and blushing when she caught Cassandra's stone-faced expression as it fell on the bejeweled trinket. Having only just managed to convince the woman that she wasn't a murderous traitor, she wasn't too keen on replacing that assumption with the notion that she was a cosseted noble, and a superstitious nitwit to boot. "I always wear it around my neck," she explained lamely. "My brothers. They gave it to me."

She was too surprised to protest when the other woman turned her brusquely, taking the fine clasp from her bandaged fingers to secure the gold chain beneath her hair for her.

"Family is important." Cassandra said, by way of explanation. Her hand returned to the knob. "Shall we proceed?"

"After you, Seeker."

Thick, fragrant smoke billowed as soon as the doors were opened. "What in the– Leliana! What is meaning of this!"

"Isn't there some saying about how the right hand always blames the left? Well blame the Commander this time, Cassie. He lit the confounded thing."

Cordelia blinked rapidly as she waded into the smoky mess behind Cassandra, attempting to locate from which blurry figure the Orlesian-accented retort came.

"If you will recall, I only did so at Lady Montilyet's insistence," a man's smooth voice called out. He was interrupted by a hacking cough that verged on a retch. " Proper protocol be damned," he gasped. "Pray tell me, in which of your books is the procedure for greeting the chosen of Andraste outlined, my lady?"

A delicate hmmph sounded from somewhere to Cordelia's right. "We must have _some _pomp and circumstance if we are to be respected by all of Thedas. You clearly lit them wrong. At least make yourself useful and help me; the damned things won't blow out!"

"You can't," Cordelia responded, in chorus with three of the voices in the room.

"Herald?

Is that her?"

"My lady Trevelyan! How lovely to meet you!"

"Perhaps we should put the introductions aside for now and locate the extinguisher?" Cordelia offered, pointedly ignoring the odd honorific that she'd only just noticed the villagers outside using as well. "The candles are everburning. We must locate the snuffer to put them out properly."

"Oh! Like the Chant says! You know, I always wondered how they stayed burning through such long services!"

The one called Leliana giggled at this. "Oh Josie."

A metallic glint caught Cordelia's eye. "Was it a silver candelabrum?"

"Yes," the commander responded hoarsely. "Do you see it?"

She nodded, belatedly realizing that no one could see her. "Yes it's– ow!" She rubbed her forehead and reached out blindly to feel for the object she'd collided with, fingers brushing over metal and some sort of fur. Large hands grasped her shoulders to steady her.

The man was close enough that the fur he wore tickled her nose. "So sorry my lady," he said softly. "I meant to assist."

"Just be still for a moment," she joked, slipping from his grasp. "I believe I've located the object in question by your foot. And I've had rather enough bandages for one day."

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><p>After extinguishing no less than eight, fully lit candelabra, and then waiting the better part of an hour with the doors to the Chantry flung wide to the brisk mountain air, they returned to the old chanter's alcove, now restyled the "War Room," not much worse for the wear. Though the commander had developed quite a nasty case of lingering allergic fits.<p>

"Just a tickle," he attempted, eyes watering as he broke off into another trio of sneezes.

Cordelia looked at him in concern. "Here." She held out her handkerchief to exchange for his own, which was now soaked through.

He took the cloth gratefully, settling the thick stack of scrolls he carried beneath one arm into a precarious heap at the far end of the table before wiping his eyes. "Thank you. The fragrance, it–"

"Is disgusting," Cassandra added.

Leliana's head bobbed in emphatic agreement. "Indeed. I am thankful that Most Holy uses–" she broke off abruptly. A blank expression smoothed any cheerful lines from her face.

Used," she corrected herself quietly.

Cordelia turned her gaze politely to the floor as the red-haired woman shared a sorrowful look with Cassandra. Despite House Trevelyan's strong ties to the Chantry, she had never met Divine Justinia. It seemed rude to bear witness to the private mournings of her most inner circle, especially since it was apparent that she'd been exceptionally beloved. She caught the eye of the commander standing to her left, head bowed in a similarly discreet fashion, and offered him a small smile. He returned it readily with only the right side of his mouth. The maneuver was so surprisingly adorable that she flushed instantly and had to look away, suddenly _supremely_ interested in Lady Montilyet's entrance.

"Well, now that _that's_ settled..." Clearly oblivious to the tension in the room, the Antivan waved a quill cheerfully as she spoke, taking up a position at the far side of the table. A scribe's board was cradled in her other arm complete with fresh parchment and an open pot of ink at the ready. She looked to Cassandra expectantly. "Shall we begin?"

"Yes." The Seeker shut the door. "May I introduce Lady Cordelia Trevelyan of Ostwick. This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador to the Inquisition; Commander Cullen Rutherford, leader of our forces; and Sister Leliana, Left Hand of the Divine and..."

Sister Leliana opened her mouth as if to explain.

"...Our spymaster," finished Cassandra.

The newly-outed spy raised one slender red brow. "Tactful, as always, Lady Seeker."

Cassandra shrugged.

Cordelia bowed her head slightly as each was introduced. "It is a pleasure to meet you all."

"The honor is ours, Herald," replied the commander.

She shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze. "Yes about that, I think there's been some misunderstanding regarding my role here. I came from Ostwick at my father's behest. As companion to Grand Cleric Byron Trevelyan and in representation of Ostwick Chantry interests at the Conclave. My motives for attending were decidedly mundane – selfish even." She struggled to keep her face impassive as she considered how much to divulge. "Suffice it to say, I am definitely not deserving of any holy recognition," she finished simply.

She looked at them expectantly, surprised to find that none seemed particularly convinced.

"Yet _you_ were the only survivor," said Leliana, gently. "Of the more than three-hundred that were in attendance, you alone stepped from the fade – gained the power to control the rifts which plague us. We must consider that there may have been some divine purpose for your fate, as well as the mark on your hand."

Cassandra made a small noise of approval. "Our Lady herself did not expect to receive the Maker's favor."

"Surely– you cannot be comparing me to her," Cordelia said with a laugh. "You–" the smile faded from her lips as she took in their solemn expressions, "–dear Maker, you are serious?"

"You are no mage," said the commander. "But you possess a wholly unnatural ability. Either this is the result of complete coincidence, or..." he spoke carefully, brows raising in emphasis, "...it was given to you by another."

"Is there any reason why a mage would bestow this gift on Lady Trevelyan?" asked the ambassador.

"None that I can think," said Sister Leliana.

"But that is no proof!" Cordelia exclaimed.

The commander gazed back at her sadly. "It is all we have, my lady."

"Can you say for certain that it was _not_ Andraste behind you?" Cassandra asked.

"I– well, no. I cannot be sure. To be honest, I don't know what to think. I can only say that it feels wrong to mislead people into believing that I'm something I'm not even sure of myself."

Cassandra nodded. "Let us believe in providence then, Herald. Believe in the facts. Because the truth is that there is no other explanation for the events that have occurred here."

"And you need not worry yourself about misleading anyone, Your Worship," said Josephine kindly. "Be silent if you must. Your actions speak for themselves and the power you wield with that mark will deliver the influence the Inquisition needs."

"Influence?" Cordelia asked.

Josephine nodded, scribbling something as she spoke. "We are a new faction. Most are unaware of the history of the Inquisition and those that are may be fearful of our intent. We must prove that we stand for an end to this chaos."

"And that we can be trusted to deal with both sides fairly," added Leliana. "Which is why it is vital that we are not too quick to cast aside your newly bestowed... erm, title."

Cordelia sighed, nodding in acknowledgment of the Orlesian's delicate phrasing. "Alright, I understand. I promised my help for your Inquisition, and you shall have it; I won't resist the title. But I _will _not encourage it. Please,"–she turned to each of the advisors– "do not ask that of me."

Cassandra beamed at her. "Spoken like a true servant of Andraste."

"And a Trevelyan," chimed Josephine. "Modest in temper, bold in deed."

Cordelia rolled her eyes at the pair of them. "So, what's the first step?"

Leliana unfurled a thick map detailing the entirety of Thedas onto the battered table. "We collect allies – mages, Templars, and any Chantry contacts who haven't already denounced you as a heretic."

"Well that was fast," Cordelia said, cocking a brow. Won't that be a problem?"

"We have split from the Chantry by declaring the Inquisition," Cassandra said, waving a hand dismissively. "You are the figurehead of our opposition. It was to be expected."

"It is a loss to be sure, but not an insurmountable one," continued Leliana, drawing their attention back to the map. "There are plenty, even in the highest reaches of the Chantry, who doubt this official stance. It will take time to bring them to our side but it can be done." She pushed a wrought iron pin into southern Fereldan. "We should begin here. There are rumors that a mother sympathetic to our cause remains in the area and my scouts also report that fade rifts have begun opening throughout Thedas. Sending you to close these would increase our visibility and gain us support."

_Demons_.

Cordelia's hands went clammy in an instant. She clenched them into fists at her sides, nails pinching at her palms in painful, but welcome confirmation that she could still trust the sensations around her. Of course they would want her to fight demons. She was the only known method of stopping the damned things from pouring from the sky. Her heart contracted, tripping over itself into a breakneck speed as she recalled the slimy feel of their bodies beneath her daggers – their treacherous sneers as they'd whispered grotesque threats into her very soul, so deep, that she'd almost convinced herself they were promises.

It was the first time she had seen one since...

She shivered violently, mind recoiling from the long-buried memory. Pure, primal instinct had driven her fighting through the putrid masses at Cassandra's side, not her training. And certainly not bravery. She didn't know if she could stand to do it again.

But if not her, then who? She swallowed guiltily, wincing as the dry tissues of her throat contracted together. She must try. The accursed mark, and her conscience, demanded it.

Pushing a now sweaty lock of hair back behind her ear, she attempted to calm herself. "W-will I be going with the Commander?" She glanced at the tall, fair-haired man, still standing silently to her left and saw his eyes, already upon her, widen as she did so.

The urge to lower her lashes, ashamed at what he might have seen, hit her instantly.

"A small party would be best," Cassandra murmured, hunching over the map with Leliana to examine the local terrain more closely. "Myself, Solas, and–"

"No."

Cassandra looked up. "Excuse me, Commander?"

"We cannot guarantee that she will be safe," he said.

"Nonsense." Cassandra turned back to the iron pin. "She will be fi–"

The commander slammed his fist to the table with no small amount of force, tearing a small portion of western Orlais from the map in the process.

Josephine jumped, scattering ink.

"Absolutely. Not," he growled, pronouncing the two words as if they were separate declarations.

"Calm yourself Cullen," the Seeker ordered, voice dangerously low.

"Just as soon as you and Sister Nightingale stop playing at our military strategy," he said fiercely. "Lady Trevelyan is a noble. She has no combat experience and no training of any sort, beyond that which her family deemed fit to purchase for her in the form of tutors. She carries our only hope of salvation and yet you are willing to send her into battle with little more than a scouting party? Herald or no, she is a _child_.

Cordelia's mouth fell open at his scathing appraisal and felt her cheeks grow hot. "If I may say, I trained with Chevalier Raineaux for over 15 years. He was a skilled veteran awarded the Lion D'or by Empress Celene herself."

The commander looked at her blandly. "Such exertions may have helped you keep a slender figure, as your parents likely intended, but I can assure you they've done little more. You cannot kill a blood mage by swaying your hips at him."

"How... dare you!" she sputtered, stung by how close to the mark he hit.

"I dare because I am Commander of Inquisition forces and as such, I must have you safe."

"I am not a little girl, Ser Rutherford. You would do well to–"

"You are certainly behaving like one," he shot back, mouth twisting into a sneer. "This issue at hand is bigger than you are." He was somehow managing to look incredibly condescending despite his reddened nose.

She had completely misjudged him – the flaming cad. An overwhelming desire came over her: to wrench her handkerchief, still clutched in his large hand, back from him and stuff the cloth down his stupid arrogant mouth.

But supposing such behavior would not be deemed very Herald-like _or_ mature, Cordelia restrained herself, feeling her nostrils flare as she attempted to control her breathing.

"He does have a point," said Leliana finally, breaking the tense silence. She surveyed the commander with something that looked suspiciously like amusement. "Cullen? I assume you have an alternate suggestion?"

"We send her out with a full squad," he replied, without a moment's hesitation. "They can clear the area of any combatants and the Herald will be free to close the rifts without additional danger to herself."

Cassandra nodded slowly. "Not a bad idea. But we risk at least twelve additional lives in the process and worse, we slow ourselves down and become far more visible to any tracking us. Plus, the Herald truly does have excellent form, Commander. You did not assess her capabilities fairly."

Cullen folded his arms across his chest. "I am not doubting her form. I'm doubting her experience. Tell me, Herald do you claim to have had run-ins with Fade creatures before a few days ago? Do you know where to strike a pride demon to weaken him? Or how to fight with mage support?"

"No," she admitted, irked by his patronizing tone. "But I'm a fast learner. You cannot expect to send me all over Thedas with a roving band of bodyguards! I must be able to protect myself."

Cassandra clapped her hands to the table, leaning forward to look at each of them in turn. "Then that settles it. Cullen, you are a former Knight-Commander. You will direct the Herald's teaching. In the meantime, Leliana's scouts can search for more information regarding the location of the mother we seek. Hopefully, by the time they have found her, Lady Trevelyan will be decently prepared to proceed with our original plan."

"Can't you teach me?" Cordelia blurted, immediately regretting how petulant she sounded. "It is you I will be fighting with after all, Seeker."

Cassandra exchanged glances with the Commander. He bowed his head in assent.

"I will instruct you in small-group tactics," agreed Cassandra. "But Cullen is better suited to training new recruits in demon-hunting. Varric and I have some business to attend. We will go now. When I return, we can begin."

"Have we a plan then?" asked Josephine.

"Yes," chorused the other three.

"Excellent. Meeting adjourned."

Cordelia could do little more than stand there, fuming, as the party dispersed. _As her parents intended... _ugh! She'd never been so humiliated! Who did he think he was?

She turned to leave, nearly running headlong into Knight-Commander Arrogant himself who was, of course, blocking her exit. "Excuse me," she said coldly, attempting to maneuver past him.

"Your Worship, I'm–"

Her brows shot up as she abandoned all pretense of civility. "Oh! So I'm 'Your Worship' again then? Not _child, _or perhaps, _my useless lady-noble_?"

If she hadn't known better, Cordelia would have said that Commander Rutherford looked almost regretful as he gazed back at her.

He said nothing.

"And I am more than capable of defending myself," she continued haughtily.

"Are you?"

"Yes!"

He sighed and shut the door behind him with a nudge of his heavy boot, eyes never leaving her own.

"What are you–" She stepped back as he strode to her, stopping only when her backside hit the table and feeling her heart pound as he leaned in, unsettlingly close.

A hand brushed her own as he braced himself on the table behind her.

"You are bluffing my lady," he whispered, breath hot against her left ear. His free hand cupped her face, fingers brushing along her hairline, still damp with telltale sweat. "You looked positively ill when all that talk of demons began."

"You were mistaken," she hissed, pulling his hand away in embarrassment.

Her face burned as she watched him rub the perspiration he had found between his thumb and forefinger.

"I suppose we shall see tomorrow then." He released her, turning to the door. "After sundown. Don't be late."

Cordelia sank back against the table as she watched him leave, rage roiling thick and heavy in the pit of her stomach. She supposed she should thank the commander. At the very least, the infuriating arse had given her a good deal more to think about tonight than her fears.

She smiled at the sound of three sneezes issued in quick succession from somewhere down the main hall. At least the man still suffered a little.


	3. Letters

_A/N: Sorry for the slighter shorter chapter. I meant to progress the story further but then decided to explore more backstory first. Please remember, this story is rated M for a reason! There will be sexual situations that may or may not be totally consensual from here on out. __Also, fair warning - I have exams about every 1-2 weeks. I'm going to be slower than some to update so following me might be useful if you're interested in sticking around. (Next chapter, with Cullen, is already in the works though.)_

_And since I always worry that my writing sucks and I should just stop... thank you so much for leaving me some really fantastically kind reviews! _

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><p>It had snowed in the night. Cordelia peered out her window at the piles of white fluff feeling perhaps a bit more excited than she ought to at the sight. But it rarely snowed in Ostwick and when it did, it was never in such generous amounts.<p>

The bed beside her own was already empty and neatly made – blankets tucked so tightly that you could bounce a silver off them. Cassandra must have woken incredibly early.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Are you decent?" asked Cassandra, calling through the door.

"Um..." Cordelia looked down at herself. Her clothing was rumpled from having been slept in, a consequence of the freezing temperatures and the fact that she had no nightclothes. But besides that and her likely tangled hair, she supposed she was presentable enough. "Yes, come in."

The door opened tentatively, and then wider when Cassandra saw her perched on the bed. A bundle was tucked beneath each of her arms and she was followed closely by Lady Montilyet, who carried another.

"What's this?" Cordelia asked, eyeing the packages curiously as they set them down on Cassandra's bed.

"Clothes!" Josephine clasped her hands in excitement. "Although they are rather drab, I'm afraid. Cassandra wouldn't let me get you anything too colorful."

Cassandra groaned at this, reaching to untie the nearest bundle. "The Herald will be fighting, Josephine, not trying to catch a husband."

"Who's to say she can't do both?" the ambassador said, winking.

Cordelia bit back a grin.

"Here we are. The essentials. Breeches, an extra pair of boots, another leather jacket – you preferred the hunter armor, yes?" Cassandra continued without waiting for a response. "A harness for your daggers, 2 tunics, a pair of gloves–"

"And underclothes of course," Josephine added. "Plus 2 reinforced brassieres. I hope you don't mind, I guessed your measurements."

Cordelia raised a brow as she inspected the last, surprised to find that the ambassador had guessed right. "Not at all. Thank you both." She stood and began to pack her new wardrobe into the nearest trunk.

"Lady Montilyet, might I use some paper and ink? I'd like to write my father. When I replenish my funds, I can pay you back for these supplies as well."

"Of course Herald," the ambassador replied. "Though, repayment is not necessary, and I already took the liberty of writing Bann Trevelyan while you were recovering."

"Oh," Cordelia said, surprised at her thoughtfulness. "Thank you."

The Antivan bowed her head gracefully, opening the door to leave. "It was no trouble. Come to my office when you are ready. I'm sure your family will be grateful to hear from you directly."

She sighed as the door shut, unbuttoning her tunic while searching for the washbasin. "Well then between getting myself dressed, writing that letter, and finding breakfast, looks like I've got a busy... oh, say twelve hours before my _training_ with the commander starts." She broke the ice that had formed over the bowl's surface, plunging her hands in with a grimace.

"Go easy on him Herald," Cassandra said as she stomped on a fresh pair of boots. "Cullen is a good man."

Cordelia raised a brow but said nothing, watching as the Seeker inventoried the contents of her potions belt before rising to buckle it into place. "You're leaving now then?"

Cassandra nodded. "We shall return soon."

"And you're sure I can't be of use to you on this... where did you say you were going again?"

"Kirkwall."

Cordelia pulled a face, reaching for a fresh cloth. "Well I don't envy you there. I've always thought that city smelled rather of piss."

Cassandra chortled. "I cannot say I disagree. Do you recall that strange lyrium we found around the last rift you sealed?"

"Yes. Red! I've never seen anything like it."

"Because it is trouble," Cassandra said, darkly. "And as is usually the case with such things, Varric was present at the start of it. We go to Kirkwall to investigate." She sheathed her sword, abruptly turning to face Cordelia. "But first, I have a favor to ask."

"Of course."

"I need you to have dinner with the commander while I am gone."

Cordelia froze, dripping washcloth in hand, more shocked at the request than she was by the icy rivulet of water she was allowing to stream between her breasts. "Um, why?"

"I do not have time to discuss the details," Cassandra said, shifting her weight from foot to foot, clearly restless to depart."

"But we don't even know each other."

"You will be eating. And you have been introduced. What more is required?"

"Mutual respect?" Cordelia asked, sarcastically.

Cassandra sighed. "Will you do it or not? I can ask Leliana or Josephine if you refuse. But you are the one who was complaining of having nothing to do only moments ago."

The Seeker had her there, Cordelia thought guiltily. "I will try. If it is that important to you."

"Good," Cassandra said. She turned on her heel, shutting the door behind her with no further explanation.

Cordelia looked down at her now sopping shirt in exasperation. Training, nightly dinners... She yanked the wet tunic off over her head, balling it up angrily before sending it pelting into the wall. Joining the Inquisition was rapidly becoming an exercise in forcing her to spend time with the only man in Haven who actually made her _wish_ for some demons to take her ire out on.

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><p>By the time Cordelia emerged from her quarters, it was nearly midday. She'd spent some quality time back in bed, flat on her back after Cassandra's departure, morosely staring at the curious mark now adorning her hand. There was little to report from her investigation other than the discovery that she could control the intensity at which the mark glowed. Not much use outside of a party trick, she'd decided, finally succumbing to the delicious aroma of frying sausages which led her to the small kitchen at the back of the chantry. Here, she was alternately stammered over and bowed at by the entire staff until she grew so uncomfortable that she fled as soon as the cook was distracted.<p>

It was of little consequence that the biscuit she'd managed to pilfer was stale and the tea, cold. At least lines from the Chant were not being recited with her every bite.

"Lady Trevelyan?"

"Oh hello," said Cordelia, looking up from the last dregs of her cup.

Josephine clucked disapprovingly, eyes roving the empty table before her. "Why are you eating here all alone? And in the coldest corner of the room too?"

Cordelia shrugged, pointing to the chubby, blue-breasted bird hopping from branch to frosted-covered branch outside the window. "I was watching. It really is beautiful here."

"You cannot be serious," said the ambassador. "Surely you are not used to such _weather_."

Laughing at the Antivan's expression of utter horror, Cordelia shook her head. "What can I say? I find the change rather exciting." She pushed away from the table, a young servant girl suddenly appearing at her side to whisk her plate away.

"You are ready to write your family?"

"Best not to delay, I suspect," Cordelia said, falling into step with the ambassador as they headed toward her office. "Rip off the bandage and such..."

Josephine looked at her quizzically. "My lady?"

"Let's just say, I'm not sure how news of my joining Inquisition will be received."

"Your parents will disapprove?"

"My mother, more specifically."

"Oh."

"I suppose..." Cordelia stepped through the door Josephine gestured her through, "...as our ambassador, you should know the details?"

"It would be helpful, yes," Josephine said, settling herself at her chair and rummaging through her desk. "But only if you are comfortable, Your Worship."

"I don't mind." Cordelia hauled a chair up to corner of the large desk, selecting one of the ambassador's proffered quills. "I was nearly engaged. My mother likes to imagine that the deal had been struck. But in truth, it was never something that I wanted."

"Is this why you attended the Conclave?" Josephine asked. "You mentioned personal reasons."

"Yes. It was a very good match, you see. To the Lord Chancellor of Tantervale. Mother was quite proud at the thought of seeing her only daughter so well married."

"Lord Chancellor Maximilian?" Josephine blushed. "He is very handsome."

Cordelia looked up from sharpening her quill, surprised.

"I– I mean. If you like that well-groomed, lean sort of look."

"I suppose I can't say he is a terrible sight to behold," Cordelia agreed, smiling. "But we would not have suited."

"Why not?" Josephine asked.

"His expectations of a future wife were somewhat different than mine, to put it bluntly. He would have forbid me from training, from seeking any sort of employ. And while I cannot deny that he would have provided for me..." Cordelia shrugged, not quite sure how to explain the rest. She pulled a blank piece of parchment from the towering stack on the desk, considering how much to divulge.

Josephine looked at her sympathetically. "It is alright. You do not need to tell me–"

"No, I'm just not sure how to... I mean, I know this sounds daft, but dashing as the Lord Chancellor is, he always made me feel... uncomfortable? I suppose that's the best word for it. It was difficult to contemplate marrying such a man."

Cordelia accepted the bar of wax Josephine passed her, quickly thrusting the end into the nearest flame to keep her hands busy. Even now, she still had difficulty pinning down her feelings on the subject.

_"Did you wear that dress for me, my lady?"_

_"Excuse me?"_

_"Your assets are set off to... quite the advantage."_

_She pulled away. "I think Gabriel is looking-"_

_"Your brother can wait."_

_He gripped her waist tightly, bending her back over the rail of the balcony ever so slightly as she struggled to keep some distance between them. "What I would not give to see you out of this Cordelia." He ran a thumb across the lace of her low neckline, nearly brushing the bared skin of her breasts._

_Please don't touch me, she prayed silently, shamed by the throbbing that had begun between her legs of its own accord. Please don't. She resisted the urge to snap her head forward into his nose. There would be blood everywhere._

_"My lord, you know my Aunt Lucille would have both our heads if she saw us like this."_

_"I rather like the idea of people catching us. Haven't you ever found it thrilling?"_

_Cordelia turned her head away, unable to keep from blushing._

_"Oh. My sweet." He caught her chin in his fingers, eyes darkening hungrily. "I forget, you are so innocent of these things."_

_He crushed his lips to hers in a bruising kiss. "I cannot wait to teach you."_

"Ouch," she muttered. Hot golden wax dripped carelessly over her fingers from the now melting bar. Cordelia pulled it back from the flame hastily, allowing it to pool on the blank parchment before her instead. "That is really all there is to tell I'm afraid. We were never engaged. When Maximilian began hinting of his intentions, I went to my father and asked him for some time away from the city."

"And he chose to send you with your uncle? The Grand Cleric?"

"It was a logical choice. It had always been intended that I would join the Templars, like my older brothers. But there were... events which dissuaded my mother of the notion. I had dreamed of it for years – leaving to take my vows, wondering what the vigil beforehand would be like..." She smiled, remembering. "My brothers were dramatically secretive about the Order for years you see. It was our inside joke. They would refuse to tell me anything on their visits home and I would chase them about the grounds until I managed to best one of them and beat some tidbit from him."

"And that was enjoyable?" Josephine asked, looking confused.

"Maker yes!" Cordelia said, laughing. "And since we knew I would be joining their barracks soon enough, it was really just all in jest. None of us expected that I'd be forbidden from it in the end."

She removed her necklace, gazing at it sadly for a moment before pressing the charm face down into the cooling wax to set her mark. "Anyway, instead of taking my vows at eighteen, I found myself suddenly aimless. My uncle took pity and offered me an apprenticeship as a Chantry scholar and... that was the end of it. I spent the next three years training under him, my focus, on Templar-mage relations–"

"Ah," Josephine said, eyes lighting up with understanding. "And thus, you were a perfect choice for the Conclave."

Cordelia nodded. "And there you have it. The whole tale. Though I should warn you, you're sure to be inundated with enraged correspondence from my mother as soon as this letter reaches Ostwick."

"Please," the ambassador said, clearly unruffled. "There was an entire course on dealing with parents when negotiating diplomatic agreements at the University."

Cordelia laughed at the utter absurdity of the idea. "Truly?" She dipped her quill, finally setting about to addressing her letter in bold, even strokes.

Josephine grinned mischievously. "Oh yes. And I was top of the class."


End file.
